Time to Talk

*Trigger warning: This blog post is about intimate partner violence*

Over fall break, my mom made an unexpected visit from California to New York City, where I go to school. She had been called the night before, told that her daughter was expressing suicidal thoughts, and asked to please come pick her up from the Metropolitan Hospital emergency psych ward as soon as possible.

“You know,” Mom began, “you didn’t really look scared or angry or anything when you were in there.”

A good observation. I wasn’t scared or angry. I was mostly just tired.

“You looked like you were thinking, ‘One day, I’m going to write a book about this,’ and like you were already writing it in your mind,” she said.